Not so Lonely Between the Stars
by ALC Punk
Summary: AU, pilots spending their night, in time-honored traditions such as playing cards, getting Billy Keikeya drunk, and watching Sam Anders and Kara Thrace make out.


Disclaimer: TOTALLY mine. Because these versions don't exist in canon. And stuff. But supposedly, they might belong to Ron Moore, too.  
Length: 2000+  
Genre: AU, fluff, mostly-gen, humor  
Set: AU season four. For reasons that will become abundantly clear in a moment.  
Warning for pairings: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders, Jean Barolay/Billy Keikeya, Margaret Edmonson/Diana Seelix (though only the first is overt)  
Rating: PG13, sexual innuendo, language, flirting, het, femslash, binge-drinking  
Notes: Bits of this were posted earlier today on Skiffy, but ehy have since been edited and added to. And is to blame for the gratuitous Billy.

**Not so Lonely Between the Stars**  
_by ALC Punk!_

"You snore," Kara informed Sam, her tone lofty. She tossed a handful of nuts at him and slouched back in her chair, smirking.

"I do not--"

"You do snore," Racetrack interrupted him, swiping one of the bounced peanuts and popping it in her mouth. She tapped her cards on the table, eying Starbuck, "You gonna keep riling him or are you gonna let him lose his pants?" She didn't mention to Longshot that, sometimes, he snored in concert with Starbuck. They were already obnoxious enough as it was.

"Hey!" Waving a hand at them, Hotdog tossed his own bet on the pile, "If anyone's winning this game, ladies--" he tried to leer and failed rather miserably. He'd been practicing in the mirror, but even that cute new comms officer Dee was training thought he just looked like a lost puppy.

Sam snickered, "You're just sore I stole the blankets last night," he told Kara, finally dropping a crumpled bill onto the pot.

"Didn't notice, Mr. Furnace," Kara replied, her tone acid.

"Could you two ever not flirt?" demanded 'Track, rolling her eyes and shooting a glance towards the bar where Connor was calling another order for the back area. "It's getting old."

It was not old. Heck, it was barely anything other than new to share a flight deck, a rack and a room with Sam. Kara shot him a look that was entirely serious, then broke into a grin again, "Nah, it's not all old." She nudged him under the table, "Well, I'm not old, at least."

"Hey!" Interpreting the insult, Sam reached under the table and smacked her knee, "Be nice, honey."

"Make me."

"CALL." announced Hotdog, his voice loud in the bar.

A few people shot the table full of pilots a glance, but none of them really cared about what was going on there. It was also possible that more than a few had a passing acquaintance with Starbuck's fist, Anders' amused look, or Racetrack's glare.

Starbuck and Longshot didn't even look at their cards as they dropped them, identical smirks on their faces. Racetrack looked surprised, then began to grin as she set hers down. For his part, Hotdog groaned and didn't even bother spreading his face-up.

"You," 'Track said, pointing at Kara, "Have totally lost your edge."

"I blame all the sex," confided Kara, reaching out to swipe one of 'Track's pretzels.

Sam hooted and shoved at her knee, "Yeah, right."

"And Sam never had any edge."

Racetrack stared at the way they were grinning goofily at each other, and sighed. "Would you two just frakking get a room already?"

"Aw, Maggie," Kara leaned on the table and turned her grin on Racetrack, "You need to get laid, baby?"

"Yeah. I need a good frak." Grabbing a pretzel, Racetrack tossed it at her, "And an end to this frakkin' war, and something other than these stupid cards."

Starbuck snickered, "This is startin' to sound familiar. How 'bout you go see if Charlie's interested in sneaking into the back room with you?"

"Oh, frak you," suggested 'Track, throwing another pretzel at her.

Which Starbuck caught and popped in her mouth with a smirk.

Hotdog smacked his hand on the table, "We gonna play again, or the three of you idiots gonna go get a room together?"

"I'm getting a drink," Kara decided, standing and slapping Costanza on the shoulder, "Try not to miss me."

The other three cat-called her and she gave them the finger. Gods. This coming back to life and hanging out with her husband (of all people) as a pilot and fellow crew-member was still weird. Still, there were probably worse things.

Kara bellied up to the bar next to Billy Keikeya and shouted at Connors, who gave her a harassed look from the other end of the bar.

"He'll be back," Billy mumbled, sounding morose.

Eying him, Kara considered her options. True, she wasn't a saint. Still, some part of her felt like she owed Keikeya for keeping the president from airlocking her on sight. He'd also been one of the few people other than Lee and Sam to point out that there didn't seem to be _any_ right way to get to Earth. Of course, Dee had provided the navigational points that had backed Kara up and put Roslin neatly in her corner, since both were heading in the same (vague) direction.

So she nudged him. "Hey. I feel like I should buy you a beer or something."

"Beer sucks," Billy replied. But he seemed to shake himself a little out of the funk he was in and attempted to look vaguely interested in her. "I feel like I should be throwing things at Mr. Adama."

They both shared a puzzled look and then Kara shook off the feeling. "No, really. I should buy you a drink."

A bitter laugh escaped Billy and he shook his head, "I'm two drinks away from being unconscious on the floor. Why not?"

Connors arrived then and took their orders--Kara was nice, and got a pitcher of margaritas for the entire table. Someone needed to get Racetrack drunk, after all. Once he was gone to fill them, Kara tilted her head, "Barolay kick you out?"

Billy stopped playing with the broken peanut shells and shrugged. "Not exactly."

Relationships were a frakking pain. Kara had no clue how to deal with them--she was lucky Sam was so easy-going, or she'd end up with no one to frak her half the time. Luckily, Connors was prompt with his booze. Kara grabbed her pitcher and nudged Billy, "C'mon. We're playin' cards."

The boy just needed some drunken card-playing, Kara figured. It would fix him right up.

Since she was feeling generous, she might even let him win a hand.

Racetrack looked up when Starbuck shoved Keikeya down into her abandoned chair. She snorted, "He takin' your place, 'Buck?"

"Nah. Sam can share," replied Starbuck, putting the pitcher on the table before she tried to sit on Anders' lap.

He grabbed her hips, laughing at her as she dropped down onto him. "Baby," he asked, his chin fitting on her shoulder, "how am I going to kick your ass at cards this way?"

"You can't kick my ass at cards, anyway."

"Hey! Can you two shut the frak up or get a room?" Hotdog was dealing, cards snapping down onto the table briskly, "Some of us would like to play."

Kara grabbed for her cards and shifted so Sam could get his.

"Gods." Billy stared at the jumble in his hand, then shook his head, "I never remember how to play this crap."

Racetrack threw a pretzel at him. "Bullshit," she challenged.

"Don't fall for it, Maggie," Kara warned, leaning and trying to get a look at Sam's cards, even as he laughed and held them out of her range. She elbowed him, which caused him to yelp and threaten to dump her off his lap.

"I wish they'd just get a room," muttered Hotdog before he tossed his ante into the pot.

Billy, his cards slightly more organized, nudged one of Kara's abandoned pretzels into the ad hoc pot. "Maybe there aren't any."

"There are tons of half-empty supply rooms, not to mention twelve weapons lockers that--" Hotdog broke off at the look the other four were giving him, then flushed, "What? I like knowing where we can... put... things."

"How did you get that rash again, Costanza?" Kara asked, her eyebrows shooting up.

Sam nudged her, "Bet two pretzels for me, baby. And also," he leaned in, his mouth tickling the side of her neck gently, and whispered, "You might wanna fold."

"Damn rook," Kara muttered before she glared at him, "Stop lookin' at my cards, Longshot."

"Yes, sir, Captain Starbuck, sir."

'Track tossed in three pretzels, "Quick, Costanza, where's the nearest empty storage room?"

He gave her an offended look and met the bet before waving the deck. "Anyone want to exchange their cards?"

"My entire hand," suggested Starbuck, dropping hers and smiling winningly at him.

"Can you do that?" asked Billy, dropping three of his and shoving them towards Hotdog.

"You folding, Starbuck?"

"No--yes--no--" she glared at her cards, then glared harder at Billy, "So, why's Barolay pissed at you?" She tossed three of her cards at Hotdog and let Sam exchange his, though there might have been groping involved.

"She thinks I work too hard."

"Dude." Racetrack stared at him, then asked, "When's the last time you slept?"

Billy blinked, and the circles under his eyes actually seemed to deepen for an instant, before he shrugged and made a bet, sliding half of Kara's old stash into the pot. "I slept."

"When, two months ago?" Sam asked, peering at the kid and noticing the circles for the first time.

"Well, more like, uh... Two days?" The younger man hazarded.

'Track dropped her cards, "Too rich for me." She swiped a pretzel from the pot and popped it in her mouth, "So you do work too hard."

"Hey, government doesn't run itself," Billy pointed out, sounding annoyed.

"No, but haven't you learned the fine art of delegation yet?" Anders shook his head and tossed his cards, "Fold. And Kara's folding, too."

"I am? Hey, wha--" she yelped as he stood up, bringing her with him. "I am not--"

"Do I have to toss you over my shoulder?"

"No, but you might wanna get some steel-plated armor," she snapped, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Hotdog giggled, "He'd need steel to keep it up after all the booze he's had."

"Nah." Kara glanced over her shoulder at Sam, "I think he's got that covered just fine."

Throwing another pretzel, Racetrack snapped, "ROOM."

"Room go boom?" quipped Billy, before he started laughing like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Somewhere in the middle of the laughter, his head went forward and thunked onto the table.

A moment later, there was a snore.

The other four stared at him for a moment before Kara nudged Sam, "You gotta a pen, Ensign?"

"Captain, I don't think drawing on Mr. Keikeya would be nice. Besides," he added when she raised her eyebrows at him, "Where's the profit in it?"

"We could charge people a nickel to put a freckle on him," suggested Hotdog.

"Costanza, shut up," was Racetrack's personal suggestion. She eyed Keikeya, then snorted, "Captain, I think we should get Mr. Lightweight to one of the empty racks. We did get him drunk after all."

Kara eyed the near-empty pitcher, which had disappeared without her even noticing, and glared at the sleeping presidential aide. "I didn't buy the pitcher for him," she muttered. Though, oddly, she figured that maybe she'd sort of owed him.

"We'll get him. C'mon, Costanza," Sam said, moving to hoist Billy up from the chair.

Hotdog joined him, and between them, they got Billy up, and sort of hanging between them with his arms sort of draped over their shoulders. Anders was taller than the other two but not by much. Seelix had once joked that if you ever missed seeing trees you could just stare at Helo and Longshot for a while. The suggestion had merit--as long as Athena didn't mind her husband being ogled.

With Racetrack directing the procession, her voice resigned to another night without sex, alcohol, or a winning hand, they left Joe's Bar for their rack room. It probably wasn't standard procedure to have a civvie sleep in the Officers' Mess, but Hotdog said it was one of the few places with a spare bunk. Billy ended up in the rack under Narcho, still snoring slightly. While Anders and 'Track got his boots off and a blanket over him, Starbuck had a quick word with Hotdog about the nearest empty weapons locker.

"The things I do," Maggie muttered as she dumped Billy's shoes on the floor and wiped her hands on the blanket.

"Could be worse. You could be waiting to hold his hand when he pukes," remarked Starbuck, hands in her pockets and amused grin on her face.

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed for her, "C'mon, Mrs. Anders, we should leave the kids to go to bed."

"Are you two finally getting a room?" Racetrack shook her head and tossed her last pretzel at Hotdog, "Costanza, I'm heading back down, you comin'?"

"Nah. Think I'll head up to the observation bay."

Maggie shrugged, "Your loss."

The four parted ways, and Kara wondered, as she herded Sam into the nearly-empty weapons locker three frames away, if 'Track was going off to get laid or drunk. Or possibly both. Not that she cared, not really. For one thing, Sam's hands were up under her shirt.

Racetrack took a seat at the bar and slapped a hand on it, yelling for Connors. A few minutes later, after downing her second shot, she grinned in expectation when Seelix slid in next to her.

"You busy?"

"You got a drink?"

Seelix's fingers tugged at the back of Maggie's shirts, "I don't have time for a drink. This obnoxious flight instructor is giving us a refresher exam tomorrow. Wanna help me study?"

Downing the third shot, 'Track slammed the glass on the bar and stood, turning into the slightly taller Diana, "Oh, I don't think we'll be studying."

And they weren't. After all, it wasn't just the Thrace-Anders contingent that was endangering half-empty supply rooms.

-f-


End file.
